


El Dorado

by MV_lit



Category: None - Fandom
Genre: Homosexuality, M/M, Post WWII Berlin, Post-WWII Europe, mention of concentration camps, post WWII fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-15
Updated: 2016-05-15
Packaged: 2018-06-08 15:56:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6861760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MV_lit/pseuds/MV_lit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Short story presented at the Academic Symposium for the Time and Place Context Creative Literature block.</p>
            </blockquote>





	El Dorado

**Author's Note:**

> I apologize ahead of time for whatever mistakes there will be in the German, I do not speaqk German, nor does anyone I know. German translated with a site.

Max stood, leaning against the brick wall, watching the youth on the other side of the street beg for money. Not that anyone would give him any; those who couldn’t afford it would either apologize or avert their eyes, and those who could would either snub their noses at him or speak foul curses, the boy was a foreigner, after all.

Max had been observing him for about an hour, the boy’s accent gave him away, or maybe lack thereof. He lacked the ability to form the words with the correct sharp, crisp sounds. His German was spoken with a soft, musical tone. If Max had to guess, he’d say the boy was from Southern Europe. 

Were it a few years back, he would’ve been snatched and dragged off to a camp, like Max had. Max pursed his lips, unconsciously rubbing at his left arm where, hidden beneath his coat, the inked numbers lie, an infinite reminder of his past. 

He watched as the boy was nearly slapped by the man he was begging from. Max’s frown grew as he heard the threats the man spoke against the boy for being a foreigner. From across the street, he saw a dangerous gleam flit through the boy’s eyes. 

The man, well-dressed in finery no doubt purchased through immoral means, had continued down the road, when the boy grabbed his wrist and began speaking hysterically in frantic Italian. 

Max’s brows furrowed and he stood to cross the street. The man roughly shoved the boy, sending him sprawling amidst the garbage in the alleyway before sneering and walking off. 

Once out of sight, Max saw the boy stand up and grin, holding up his prize, a golden watch. Curiosity growing, Max quickly crossed the street and walked over to the boy. “Sie wissen, dass niemand wird Geld geben, richtig?” (You know no one is going to give you any money, right?) 

The boy looked to him, brows furrowing in mock confusion. “Non parlo tedesco.” (I can’t speak German.) 

Max scowled. “Ich hörte Sie, sprechend Deutsch. Nicht gut aber weiẞ ich, dass Sie es sprachen.“ (I heard you speaking it. Not very well, but I know you were speaking it.) He insisted. 

The boy crossed his arms over his chest, leaning back against the dingy brick wall. “Was wollen Sie?” (What do you want?) 

Max shook his head. “Das arbeitet nicht, sprechen Sie Englisch?” (This isn’t working, do you speak English?) 

”I’d imagine just about everyone speaks English nowadays.” He spoke, hazel eyes looking him over as he worked the words out past his accent. 

Max nodded, looking him over in return rather warily. There were no doubts in his mind that he could handle his own against this boy if it came down to it, he appeared to be about his age and stood a couple inches shorter than him. “You picked a bad time to tour Germany.” 

The boy met his eyes, curious. “What do you mean?” 

“You’re a foreigner, and after the war no one is trusting anyone outside of the nation.” 

The boy shrugged. “I have just as much reason not to trust them.” 

“Why did you come here?” Max asked, stuffing his hands into his pockets to ward off the winter chill. 

“It’s better here than in Italy.” He replied. 

“But were there to be another war, you’d be rounded up.” Max spoke, rubbing at his arm nervously. 

The boy looked down to where Max’s rubbing had caused the sleeve of his coat to rise up, revealing the numbers inked into his skin. “A pink triangle?” 

Max’s eyes widened in astonishment. “What? No!” 

The brunet held his hands up, quickly apologizing. “Sorry, I thought you might be. My bad.” 

A moment of silence lapsed between them, Max looking everywhere but the boy’s face. “Then what were you?” 

Surprised by the question, Max looked up. “What?” 

The boy patiently repeated himself, curious. “If you’re not an Urning, then what are you? Why did the Nazis round you up?” 

Max paused for a moment, unsure as to whether he should share the truth with this boy or not. Finally, he sighed, steeling himself before speaking. “I’m a Jew.” 

Whatever reaction he believed that statement would garner from the boy, he was surprised when the boy nodded. “Okay.” 

Max furrowed his brows. “Okay? That’s it?” 

The boy shrugged. “Is there something I should be doing?” 

“Well, no, but I thought-” He trailed off, unsure how to finish the sentence. 

“You thought I was going to hurt you? Spit on you? Curse you? Why? You’ve not wronged me.” The boy replied. 

Max stared at him for a long moment, incredulous. Finally, he shook his head and smiled slightly. “I don’t believe I caught your name.” 

“I don’t believe I caught yours either.” The boy retorted, smiling. “Felice. And you?” 

“Max.” 

The boy nodded, extending a cold hand. “Nice to meet you.” He spoke, firmly shaking his hand. “I’d love to continue this conversation with you, but it’s getting late and the bakery will close soon.” He spoke turning to leave. 

He took few steps before stopping and turning to look over his shoulder at Max. “Are you coming?” He asked, looking expectantly to him. Max shrugged. Rolling his eyes he grabbed his wrist, dragging Max along with an astonishing strength. 

Though surprised, Max allowed the boy to lead him down the street, quickly making it to the bakery with a few minutes to spare. Entering, the scent of freshly baked bread sent Max’s stomach cramping in hunger, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten since the meager meal he had at the relief station that morning. 

Walking up to the counter, Felice plunked down the gold watch in front of the baker. The man gave him a small smile and accepted the watch before turning and retrieving a fair sized loaf of bread. Max thought that it wasn’t quite a fair trade, but if you’re hungry you’d give about anything for some food. 

Nodding, Felice took the bread, thanking the man in too-softly spoken German. Paper bag clenched tightly in one hand he again grabbed Max’s hand and pulled him from the shop and into a nearby alley. Opening the bag, he tore the loaf into roughly equal halves before handing one half to Max. 

Max hesitated for a moment. “You don’t know me-” 

“But you’re hungry, aren’t you?” 

“Yes, but-“ 

“But what?” The boy interrupted. “It shouldn’t matter whether you’re my closest friend or a complete stranger, you’re hungry and I have food. There’s no use in letting it go bad. You need food too, maybe even more than I do. I’ve seen the Americans helping the survivors, it wasn’t a good sight.” Felice replied, insistently shoving the food into Max’s hands. “Now eat. You’ll need the energy if you plan to survive the winter.” 

Nodding, Max thanked him before tearing off small bites of the bread, as to not make himself sick. He couldn’t afford to make himself ill by eating too quickly, there was no way to be sure when his next chance at unspoiled food would come. He settled down beside the boy with his back against the brick wall. “So, what’s the real reason you came to Germany? It has to be more than just better conditions.” 

Felice sighed. “Yes, there’s a few. There are better conditions with the aid from the Allied Forces. Also, I couldn’t steal from my own people. I come from a small town, everyone knows everyone, and no one has enough to spare. There’s barely enough to keep everyone alive. We weren’t near it, but the bombings in Rome hit us hard. My grandfather didn’t survive the war and I had nowhere else to go. So, I headed out, and here I am.” He spoke, though Max knew there was something else. The boy’s answer was too quick, rehearsed. 

He raised an eyebrow. “And?” 

Felice frowned. “And what?” 

“There’s something you’re not saying.” 

Felice watched him for a moment before sighing. He tiredly rubbed a hand over his eyes. “My grandfather owned a small bar in our town, which I worked at. The bar attracted a more… artistic type. We’d sometimes get German tourists, some men who were a bit older and they used to tell great stories about Berlin and this one bar, I believe they called it the El Dorado.” He sighed and shrugged before continuing on. “It was closed down when I was about four, but I heard about it through my early teenage years. The stories they told about a progressive Germany, well, they were inspiring. And I figured if Germany was so accepting before the war, then maybe after the war things would return to the way they were.” Felice finished, hazel eyes slipping from Max’s face to look to the filthy ground beneath his feet as he stood. 

It took only a moment for Max to make sense of the story, but his brows rose when he did. “You’re an Urning?” He spoke, pushing off the ground to stand. 

Abruptly, the boy’s eyes shot up to meet his, face hardening. “Yeah, you have a problem with that?” 

Max was quick to shake his head. “No, why would I? They suffered just as much as we did.” 

Felice’s shoulders slumped, relief evident on his face and for a moment it appeared his knees were about to buckle beneath him. “I saw the Americans dragging them off, those they didn’t kill from food deprivation they sent to prisons. I thought they were supposed to be the heroes. Apparently, they get to pick and choose who is worthy of freedom.” He spoke, keeping his voice low for fear of being heard, though the streets were nearly abandoned in the late hour. 

Max nodded sympathetically before taking his hand. “Come on, it’s late. I know a safe place where we can rest for the night.” 

“Really? Even though I’m-” He trailed off, shrugging his shoulders before beginning again. “I’m a stranger to you.” 

The corner of Max’s lips turned up fondly. “You said yourself earlier, in these times everyone needs a bit of help to survive. And where else will you go? The cold will take you if you stay out here.” He spoke, adamantly leading him toward his shelter for that night. 

Felice smiled slightly before following him into the night. “Thank you, my friend.”


End file.
